


Teacher

by lzg



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1950s, Backstory, Gen, Teacher-Student Relationship, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzg/pseuds/lzg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does Erik go from the tortured child of the camps to the adult hunter of Nazis?  Maybe a bit like this.  Some mention of torture, but nothing more graphic than the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacher

This was his first kill. He hadn't thought there would be so much blood. When he'd seen guards at the camp shoot people, there was a small pool, yes, but he was drenched. It must have been the fact that he'd sliced through the throat, stood too close.

A tch-ing sound came from behind him, and he whirled, bringing the blade up.

"Sloppy," the short, stocky woman murmured. "You picked a good spot for the killing, and ambushed him very neatly, but--if a patrol comes by, you're covered in blood, they'll bring you in on general principles. So now what do you do?" She said it in the tones of a schoolteacher, as though they were in a classroom and not a dimly lit, foggy back street in midnight Budapest.

"I'll wash off the blood." He isn't taking his eyes off her.

"No, no, no. First, there is nothing around here that will have sufficient water to remove all traces. Second, anything around here would stink to the skies and probably make you sick. No, you stab from behind, dear, once through the kidney if he's tall, to bring him down, then one thrust at the spot where the skull meets the backbone. Far less messy. And even if there is some blood," she smiles and removes her overcoat to reveal another beneath it, "you keep extra clothes, just in case."

She holds out the overcoat to Erik. "Now get out of that thing and cover up. It's cold and wet, you'll catch your death."

This night has become surreal. "Who are you?"

"My name is Magda Warczachowski, dear. And I am in debt to you for killing Obersturmführer Eder, even if your technique needs some polishing."

He doffs his blood-spattered jacket, takes the coat and puts it on. It's loose and shapeless, excellent for concealment of both his body shape and any weapons.

"Good. Now dump that coat in the open sewer over there, and we'll be on our way."

"We?"

Ice shines in her smile. "You have excellent instincts and terrible skills, child. I owe it to those _Fryce_ to see that the second situation is improved."

*******************************

Magda takes him to her safe house. When they've locked the doors and lit lamps, she begins. "First lesson: always know the neighborhood where you have safe houses. Learn what the traffic is like at all hours. Know what the best ways are to get in and out at any time, fast or unseen. Learn any boltholes in the area, where the authorities come from, who the authorities are. Criminals in the area who will sell you things or sell you out. Never have only one hiding place, and never have less than three ways out, one of them hidden. Learn the patterns of the neighborhood, what they eat, when they travel, how they dress, and do your best to blend in with them. Never draw attention unless it's unavoidable."

Erik nods, still feeling off-kilter.

"Now, what do you know of weapons?"

The next months are filled with a dizzying crash course in urban warfare and espionage. He learns how to use a variety of weapons, from tiny guns to machine pistols to knives to garrottes. The best places to strike a human body to disable, paralyze, kill. Midway through, Magda receives word from some contact and moves them abruptly from Budapest to Marseilles. She offers to pose as his mother on the trip, but he rejects it violently. She studies him for a moment, eyes soft for once, and asks if an aunt would be acceptable.

*******************************

In Marseilles, he has another lesson, this one on interrogation techniques.

"There are two good, quick, simple ways to torture someone for information, dear. Removal of the teeth, one at a time, suffices if you wish to leave the target alive."

She demonstrates with a blunt pair of pliers on the whimpering collaborator tied to the chair while an olive-skinned man impassively holds his head in place.

"Be careful not to damage the lips or tongue, and leave the front teeth for last to improve intelligibility. If your target proves obstinate, moving on to the fingers is the next step. Break or amputate, again as the situation warrants."

Erik knows little about Magda, but to be fair, she knows as much about him. She was a nurse, is in her early thirties with graying hair that makes her look older when she emphasizes it. Her body is nowhere near as plump and matronly as clothing makes it appear. She was born in Toruń, served as a clandestine medic for the Resistance in Warsaw. He never asks about parents, siblings, husband, children. It doesn't matter.

The number on his arm told her enough to trust when she normally wouldn't.

*******************************

After a year has passed, she offers him a passport with his true name on it. "I have a...friend," she begins awkwardly, then abruptly rises and walks over to a window in their small apartment.

"His name is Yossi, and he lives in Israel. He--his organization--could take your training further, and provide resources that will be more effective in helping you find Schmidt."

She knows--

"Schmidt, how do _you_ know?

"You haven't been that subtle. Anyway, I suspect that he's fled the continent, and I have no contacts who are useful for that level of information outside of Europe. Yossi or Isser, his boss, could help with that."

"Do they know?"

"I thought it best if they simply thought of you as a motivated recruit. Do try to be more circumspect, hmm?"

Later, on the train platform, he surrenders to impulse and wraps his arms around her, the fierce, crushing embrace the only one they have ever shared.

"Don't give up, my dear boy. Never give up," she whispers into his hair. "Such monsters do not deserve to walk the Earth."

Her eyes are dry, but they glow with fierce pride as he leaves.

Erik never sees her again.

**Author's Note:**

> The real Magda's family left Poland in the early 1930's. She was a nurse, but never a Nazi hunter. Many years later, when her sons offered to buy her a trip back to reconnect with the friends of her youth, she refused. None of them had survived the war. She never spoke of it again.
> 
> Constructive feedback is always appreciated.


End file.
